


Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [31]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How about some firtherton up in here. I've read a few where Taron goes to see Colin at his house after filming but what about Colin going to Aberystwyth? hanging out at the beach, sharing an ocean-facing hotel room... B)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I descend to the seventh level. Dante ain't got shit on me.

“Ah…”

“Ah…”

“Burr…”

“Burr…”

“Ist…”

“Ist…”

“With…”

“With.. Aberystwyth?” 

Taron grins broadly, nodding his head encouragingly before remembering Colin can’t actually see him. “Yeah, you’ve got it. And you’ll be here in how long?”

“Twenty minutes. Supposedly.”

“See you in twenty, then. Supposedly.” He ends the call to the sound of Colin’s deep chuckle, leaning his head back against the wall and letting his eyes slide closed. This has been both the best and the worst idea he’s ever had, inviting his former co-star to Wales for a brief vacation. And they’ve turned it into a proper do as well, booking a hotel and outlining a plan to hit all the tourist-y spots in the three days they have. 

Which would all be well and good, fantastic in fact, if Taron isn’t going to have to spend those three days pretending he doesn’t have any interest in having a relationship with Colin other than that of very good friends. 

The bustle of the airport fades around him as he gets caught up in thinking about him, the rich voice that is so much better in person than it ever will be over the phone, those gorgeous brown eyes of his that are always so warm and soft when they look at him, those _hands_ that, Jesus Christ, Taron wants _everywhere_ -

His eyes snap open as he instantly cuts off that line of thinking. They’re coworkers. Friends. Nothing more. And Taron is completely, totally, 100% sure he can control himself for three days. 

-

Taron cannot control himself for three days. Not when Colin comes off the plane blinking owlishly as if he’s just woken up with the top two buttons of his shirt undone and his hair all ruffled up. He’ll be lucky to last three hours with him looking like that. 

Colin’s pace slows, hand tightening around the strap of his bag as his eyes scan the crowd, narrowed slightly as the other passengers break off around him, veering off to meet their own people. 

It’s probably just his imagination that Colin’s smile looks a little brighter when he spots Taron lingering at the edge of the small crowd. He heads over towards him, weaving his way past hugging reunited couples, polite handshakes, and enthusiastic squeals. 

“Colin,” he says, his attempt to appear less excited than he actually is making it come off as stiff. 

“Taron,” Colin greets warmly, seemingly oblivious to it.  

Taron just has time to heave an internal sigh of relief before his eyes widen into startled surprise as Colin slings one arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a relaxed hug. His head rests just briefly against his chest before Colin leans back, keeping one hand ( _oh god_ ) on his shoulder to hold him at arms length. 

“You’ve been doing well,” he says, voice as soft as his gaze. 

RADA trained. He’s RADA trained he reminds himself as he stands there, staring mutely up into Colin’s face. “…What?” 

The corners of Colin’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, laughing quietly. “Your career,” he reminds him. “It’s going well.” 

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, right.” Taron nods, relieved that he seems to have gained some control over his mental faculties again. “Got you to thank for that, don’t I?” he asks, winking. 

Colin drops his hand and starts off in the direction of the baggage claim, glancing back over his shoulder and shrugging. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose your natural talent might have had _something_ to do with it.”

-

It takes them a few hours to reach their hotel, the drive from the airport filled with them exchanging information about their upcoming projects and swapping horror stories about scenes gone wrong and terrifying co-stars. 

Eventually ( _unfortunately_ ), they reach the hotel. Taron insists on carrying Colin’s bags for him. He’s only got two, he says, and besides he’s the guest here. Guests don’t carry their own things. Colin relents, accepting the hotel key and leading the way to the room. He twists the lock, swinging the door open. 

“Well this is interesting,” Colin says lightly, but something in his tone alerts Taron that all might not be well. 

Stretching up on his toes to see over his shoulder ( _why couldn’t he be taller, dammit?_ ) Taron peers into the room. 

“A subtle hint, perhaps?” Colin asks, lips quirked in amusement. He side-eyes Taron, one eyebrow lifting a bit.

Taron drops back to flat feet, groaning and narrowly resisting the urge to beat his head against the wall. He pops back up to check once more, but it only confirms what he’d thought. There is definitely only one bed in there. “No, fuck, the hotel must have given us the wrong room,” he mutters, hiking one bag up a little further on his shoulder so he has something to focus on other than Colin. “I’ll go tell ‘em they’ve gotta give us another room.” He reaches to take the key.

But Colin tightens his grip on it, glancing down at him and shrugging. “I don’t mind if you don’t.” 

( _Oh, I don’t mind at all. In fact, lie close enough and you may found out exactly how much I’d enjoy-_ )  “Uh… sure. I mean, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“That’s settled, then,” Colin says, heading into the room. 

Taron shuffles in after him wondering just what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

-

Definitely the worst idea he’s ever had. No question about it anymore. Really, inviting Colin to the beach, that should have been obvious. He hadn’t remembered that the beach meant swimming and swimming hanging around all day in nothing more than swim trunks. 

What had he been thinking?

Not that much swimming is actually going on. Taron heads straight for the water figuring it’s safer than land for the time being, but the second he sticks his foot in he’s yanking it right back out. “Holy shit, that’s freezing!” he breathes, forcing himself in up to his ankles. Goosebumps break out over his arms and he crosses them over his chest, rubbing at them in an attempt to warm himself up. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, half-turning to look back at Colin and making a valiant effort to keep his teeth from chattering. 

Colin glances up from where he’s straightening out a towel before shrugging. Then he surprises Taron by breaking into a flat-out sprint, heading straight for the water. 

“No, wait-” he calls, trying to warn him, but he’s too late, watches helplessly as Colin practically launches himself into the frigid waves. He bites his lip, but it doesn’t do much to keep a big smile from spreading over his face when the older man pops back up, spluttering, damp hair clinging to his forehead. 

“Bl-bloody hell, Taron, you could have warned me,” he chatters, the effect of his glare rather ruined by the shivers running through him. 

Taron can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. Colin just looks so pathetic standing there shivering with salt water dribbling down off the end of his nose. “I tried, mate,” he gasps when he’s recovered enough breath to speak again. “But you were so eager to just fuckin’… rocket yourself in there…” He collapses into giggles. 

“Right, that’s it,” Colin mutters, wading determinedly towards Taron. “You deserve this.” He wraps his arms around Taron’s waist.

Before Taron quite has this latest development processed he finds himself being dragged backwards, deeper into the cold hands of the sea. “No, Colin, stop, wait, please, I’m sorry, never do it again, I promise,” he pleads, squirming in his grip. 

Colin only tightens his hold, shaking his head solemnly. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. You’re going in.” And Colin topples over backwards. 

Taron lets out a startled yelp before he’s enveloped by the icy water and the hands holding him in place fall away. They resurface at the same time and this time it’s Taron’s turn to glare at Colin’s smug, grinning face. His “wa-wa-wanker” doesn’t have much of a bite to it.

-

‘How many beers’, Taron thinks absently, circling his finger around the rim of his half-empty glass, ‘would I have to have to drink myself into a coma?’

Because, honestly, that’s the only way he can imagine getting any sleep. He should have insisted on that second room. Colin Firth is just too damn charming for his own good. 

He glances over to the bed where the man is already stretched out, one arm tucked behind his head, other hand resting on his chest, eyes closed. He lets himself smile softly at the sight, since it’s not like Colin’s awake to see it anyways. 

“Something amusing?” 

Or maybe he is. Damn. “Just remembering how you looked running headlong into the water earlier,” he lies. 

Colin rolls his eyes, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. “Why did you invite me out here, Taron?” he asks, sounding more serious now than he has all day.

Taron clears his throat and shrugs, fingers tapping against the side of the glass. “I’ve been to London, thought it was only fair you got to see Wales.”

“Hmm,” Colin hums, not appearing entirely convinced. He relapses into silence and Taron finishes off his drink. 

Making it through the night is going to be harder than he thought.

-

Yeah, he’s just not sleeping, not with the heat of Colin fucking Firth right behind him, close enough to just roll over and touch if he wanted. And he wants to. Taron slowly flips himself over, opening his eyes and letting them adjust to the darkness until he can see the outline of Colin’s body beside him. 

Mesmerized, Taron just watches him breathe for a minute, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest strangely compelling. Cautiously, hesitantly, he reaches out to trail the back of one finger down the side of his cheek, throat tightening. 

He freezes when he notices Colin’s eyes are open, fixed on his face. Immediately he moves to pull his hand away but finds it captured in the other man’s grip. A lump forms in his throat, preventing him from stammering out the apology he so desperately wants to say. All thoughts of that (in fact, all thoughts in general) fly out of his head as Colin slowly but deliberately, guides Taron’s hand down his body until it rests on Colin’s hip. 

“Do you want this?” he asks, voice husky, sleep-rough. “Are you sure?”

Taron doesn’t think twice before breathing, “Yes.”

And then Colin’s arm is slipping around his back, pulling him in closer and their lips are so close-

 _(Oh, fuck, not now, not here)_. Taron’s eyes fly wide open as he feels himself teetering on the edge of orgasm. Worst time for a wet dream ever. In history. He’s sure of it. Trying to make as little disturbance as possible while also trying to keep from blowing his load, he disentangles himself from the sheets, stumbling into the bathroom and easing the door shut. He braces his back against it, not even turning on the light before he shoves his pyjama bottoms and boxers down, already damp with precome. “Shit,” he hisses, wrapping a hand around himself and nearly whining with how good it feels. ( _But it would be even better if it was Colin’s hand. It could be easy, Taron, he’s lying right out there. Just go, beg him to get you off. He would, you know he would, all you have to is ask. Imagine the filthy things he would say as his fingers stroked you. Who knows? Maybe he’d even use his mouth, get creative with his tongue-_ ) 

Taron bites down on his knuckles to muffle himself as he comes, most of it spilling into his hand but some running down to make a mess of his thighs. Trembling, he stands there for a moment, just trying to catch his breath. When he’s thinking clearly again he reaches for the toilet paper, cleaning himself up and crumpling it up into the smallest ball possible for tossing it in the wastebin. 

Relieved to see that his little session hasn’t woken Colin, he slides carefully back into the bed, staying near the very edge of it and lying on his side with his back to Colin. Two more nights. 

Fucking hell.


	2. Vacation, Had to Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caved and wrote more after all.

“You do realize I am not, in fact, Harry Hart, right, Taron?” Colin asks wryly, arching one eyebrow. 

Taron grins up at him, nudging him gently with his elbow. “C’mon, Col, everyone likes butterflies. And it smells fantastic in there.” 

Colin just shakes his head, letting Taron drag him into the Magic of Life Butterfly House, going on about how these sorts of things weren’t worth it unless a butterfly actually landed on you and none of them ever did. 

Rolling his eyes, Taron starts strolling through the gardens, glancing around at the brightly clustered flowers and the quick flashes of color that are sometimes all he can see of the tiny insects. He can feel the tension that’s stayed in his muscles since the previous night (when he’d wanked it off to thoughts of Colin) beginning to melt away. His head falls back a bit, weak sunlight hitting his face and even warming him up a little, fighting off some of the autumn chill. 

“Don’t move,” Colin says at his shoulder ( _when did he get so close?_ ) and Taron obediently freezes. 

He opens his mouth to ask what’s going on, but there’s a bit of movement in the corner of his eye and when he turns to look he gets his answer. 

Perched right where his neck meets his shoulder is a blue-winged, black-bodied butterfly. 

Taron risks wiggling his eyebrows. “What was that you were saying earlier?” he asks cheekily. The second he speaks it’s fluttering off, landing on a flower a few feet away. 

Colin smiles at him and Taron’s heart skips a beat or two. Shrugging, he holds out his phone so he can see it. “This was worth being wrong.” 

The picture shows Taron with his eyes straining to see the butterfly on his shoulder and there’s a second one he never even knew was there settled on his head, a spot of green amongst the blonde. 

“Is it-?” he asks, slowly reaching up. 

But Colin shakes his head, chuckling. “No, it flew off when the other one did. Your head is no longer under attack.” 

Taron turns the phone on Colin, lining up the camera. “No,” he says, adjusting the angle, “but yours is.” He snaps the picture just as Colin’s eyes shoot upwards as if he could actually see the butterfly resting atop his curls. 

-

Groaning dramatically, Taron slumps forward, letting his forehead thud against Colin’s ( _unfairly broad_ ) back. “Knew I shouldn’t have let you pick a place,” he mutters. 

Colin doesn’t react much to the sudden onslaught of Taron beyond a smile that the younger man can’t see. “Oh, hush, this is hardly torture.” He reads through the plaque detailing the history of lead mining in Ceredigion. 

Wishing he had the courage to wind his arms around Colin’s stomach and prop his chin up on his shoulder, Taron instead had to settle for heaving a heavy sigh and hauling his head upright. “Well, at least this was free,” he mutters, glancing around at the displays of old mining machinery and tools. 

They have, in his opinion, spent entirely too much time in the Ceredigion Museum. There have, admittedly, been some cool sections (the costumes bit appealed to him and the section on death in Victorian times was kind of interesting) but the majority of his time has spent wandering around behind Colin (who’s actually taking the time to read the displays; who does that?). It hasn’t been all bad. Walking around behind Colin has given him plenty of time to covertly sneak glances at his arse.

Not that he’s doing that of course. Because he’s going to control himself for the rest of this vacation, even if he failed miserably the first night. He’s not going to let himself get even the slightest bit drunk again. Maybe that will help. Maybe. 

Colin turns off to look at another exhibit and Taron doubts it. 

-

“Do the Welsh have something against vowels?” Colin asks, brow furrowed as he tries to puzzle out the pronunciation of ‘Bwlch.’

Taron bites his lip to keep from laughing, shaking his head. “There isn’t anything that hard about Bwlch Nant yr Arian Forest,” he says, shrugging. 

Colin just shoots him a half-hearted glare and goes back to trying to consolidate Taron’s pronunciation with the letters on the sign. After another second or two he gives up. “Let’s just go, shall we? Walking I can do, Welsh I cannot.” 

Giving up on the whole ‘not laughing’ thing, Taron leads the way down one of the many hiking trails, wondering if they’ll actually be able to make it back before it gets dark. They’ve only got an hour before the sun goes down and the trail is supposed to take about that long to walk. If they get lost out here and have to spend the night huddled together under some bush he’s going to kill something. 

But they don’t, of course they don’t. Because it’s a walking trail and it’s well maintained and it’s meant for people to know where to go. They stroll along leisurely, Colin glancing around at the scenery like one is supposed to do on a nature hike and Taron mostly just looking at Colin as one is not supposed to do on a nature hike. 

He walks slowly so as to prolong the time it takes for them to get back to the hotel and that damned single bed. He needs to sleep, but he doesn’t think he can, not after what happened. Letting his guard down isn’t a good idea. Neither is staying up for nearly a solid 48 hours, but at least that isn’t as embarrassing as Colin waking up to find him with a hard on or, worse, wet sheets. Taron groans out loud, definitely not on purpose. 

Colin looks over at him. “Something wrong?” he asks. 

Taron misses a step, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh… no, feet just hurt a bit is all. I’m out of shape,” he adds ruefully. That bit, at least, isn’t a lie.

“We can go back, if you’d like”, Colin offers, halting. “I’m sure there isn’t much of a difference between this and the rest of the trail.” 

Taron might be a touch too enthusiastic in his refusal. “No! No, ‘s okay. You’re not here for much longer and we shouldn’t spend it in the hotel room,” he protests, palms up in surrender. 

Colin gives him a look, a look that reminds Taron of how he was pressing for the reason why Taron had invited him to Wales the night before, a look that has him swallowing thickly and re-thinking that self-imposed prohibition on alcohol. A look that nearly has him stumbling forwards on weak knees, curling his hands in that tacky tourist shirt he’d begged him not to buy earlier, and telling him exactly why he brought him here. But he doesn’t. 

Instead he just inclines his head towards the trail and starts off down it, hearing Colin fall into step behind him. Briefly, he wonders if Colin is staring at his arse. He discards the thought as ridiculous. 

-

Skipping alcohol is not the first mistake he’s made in the past 36 hours. Taron wants desperately to get his shit together. He doesn’t want to be lying in this darkened room with the heat of Colin’s body at his back and him practically squirming because of it. Well… no, actually he does want that, but he’d prefer the circumstances be slightly different. 

In this fantasy that he shouldn’t be allowing himself to have Colin is also awake for one thing. And Taron is squirming for a very specific reason. A very specific reason that has him turning his face into his pillow because he’s sure his cheeks are pretty much glowing at this point and his face is _probably_ about to burst into flames. 

A reason that has his chest tightening and the front of his boxers tightening and he’s sneaking into the bathroom again. 

Fucking. Hell.


	3. Vacation, Meant to Be Spent Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last day of vacay, is Taron gonna get it together? Probably not.

Taron is the first to wake up the next morning, not having gotten what one could call a restful sleep. He rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, one hand flung over his chest, eyes resolutely not sliding over to the still-sleeping figure at his side. This was a mistake he will not be repeating, he resolves. In fact, it will probably be better if he stays away from Colin in any setting other than professional ones. Which is a real shame, he thinks. Colin's been a good friend to him, it won't be fun distancing himself.

His head lolls to one side and he lets himself look at him after all, runs his gaze over his face to memorize the way it looks while he's sleeping. He seems so peaceful, completely relaxed, must be having a good dream too if the slight curl to his lips has anything to say about it. And, sure, maybe his eyes linger a bit on Colin's lips but it doesn't matter because this is the last time he's going to see him like this. Besides, Colin is asleep. He won't ever know.

"Taron."

Taron's brow furrows. Colin's eyes are closed, he's sure of it. "Colin?" he whispers, just to make sure. When there isn't a response he flips onto his side so he's facing him, starting to think he just imagined it.

"Taron..." Colin sighs again and this time there's no mistaking it. He's still sleeping, yes, but he's also definitely, 100% for sure saying his name.

Colin is dreaming about him and Taron can't quite believe it. Absently, he wonders what they're doing inside his head; he knows what he _hopes_ is happening, but tosses that possibility away pretty much immediately. Time to ruin a good thing before he starts reading too much into it. He throws back the covers more violently than is necessary, bedsprings squeaking as he gets up off the mattress. He doesn't look back as he shuffles over to his suitcase and starts digging through it for clothes, but he hears a groan as Colin comes awake, the shift of sheets as he sits up blinking.

Running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, Colin glances over at the clock before getting a touch distracted by the sight of Taron bent over in the ridiculous cut-off sweatpants he owns for some reason, pink boxer shorts peeking out over the waistline. "A bit early, isn't it?" he grumbles. "Sun isn't even properly up yet." 

Chuckling Taron straightens up, a bundle of clothes clutched in his arms. "Checkout time, Col. We gotta be out of here by eleven." As he speaks he heads for the bathroom, passing back by the bed.

"That means we still have two hours," Colin points out dryly, watching him go and making no move to get up himself.

"Leaves us plenty of time to pack up, then, doesn't it?" Taron counters, shutting the bathroom door behind him. He sets his clothes down near the sink, slumping back against the wall and blinking at his reflection. He looks a touch pathetic, hiding out in the loo because he can't get his shit together and just fucking tell Colin he's in love with him, has been since he met him practically. A wave of frustration crashes over him and he scrubs a hand over his face almost violently. Just one more day and then he's free. He'll cut ties and do his best to forget about whiskey-brown eyes and gray-streaked hair, stupidly bright smiles and the voice that makes him weak in the knees. None of that will matter after today. He'll just go back to jerking off to his movies or something.

Sighing he heads back into the room, forgetting to change altogether. He doesn't even realize he's still dressed in his pyjamas until he sees Colin's arched eyebrow. Quickly he scrambles for some sort of explanation. "Decided to go back to bed after all," he says, one shoulder shrugging. 

Colin's lips twitch into a victorious smile and he lets himself sink back into the mountain of pillows and sheets.

Silently berating his brain for coming up with the worst possible thing to say when he was trying to _maintain distance_ , Taron makes his way back over to the bed, slipping back underneath the sheets. 

For a second he thinks Colin might have actually gone back to sleep in such a short timespan, but then he feels a hand on his shoulder, the heat of his palm feeling like its branding his bare skin. Curiously, he glances up, blinking in shock when he sees Colin's face so close to his own.

"I want to thank you for this, Taron," he says softly, sounding more serious than he has at any other time (excepting the moment when he'd asked why Taron had invited him in the first place). "It's been a long time since I've been able to relax like this and I would very much appreciate the opportunity to do it again sometime."

Taron swallows thickly. "Uh... yeah," he mutters. "I mean, I've had fun too. We should, you know, do it again sometime." 'Like never' he adds mentally. 'Never sounds like an excellent time.'

Colin's hand slips off his shoulder and he immediately is swept with both relief and disappointment. The weight of it had been comforting, but also a burning reminder of what wasn't his. These casual touches would stop, and yes it would be his fault, but that didn't really make it a whole lot better, honestly.

A moment later the silence that had settled over them was broken by a soft "Taron?"

Taron turned his head, half expecting Colin to just be muttering his name in his sleep again. But he was startled to find his face nearly touching his, far closer than he'd expected it to be. His breath caught in his chest and his heart started pounding far faster than it had been just seconds ago. "Yeah?" he asked, hating the way it came out all breathy like he was some love-struck young kid. Which he was, but he didn't like the reminder.

"You never did tell me why you invited me."

"Yes, I did. I said I'd been London so it was only-"

"The real reason," Colin interrupts him, leveling a look on him that lets him know he thinks that answer is nothing but bullshit.

Taron had kind of been hoping Colin wouldn't pick up on that. Damn the man and his perceptiveness that wasn't helping him get away with his lies. "I dunno. Maybe I didn't have a reason," he says. "Do I need one?"

Colin stares at him for a bit, the intensity of his gaze nearly bringing a flush to Taron's cheeks and wouldn't that just be exactly what he needed right then? "No," he finally says, breaking their eye contact. "I suppose you don't."

His eyes close and Taron should feel relieved. He should feel grateful that he's gotten away with it, that he'll be able to finish off this hell of a vacation without ruining the best thing he's never had. But instead he just feels tight. His chest is tight with the breath that seems caught up in it, his throat is tight with the words he isnt' saying, his stomach is tight with nerves and the tension of holding in a secret for so long.

"But maybe I did," he says before he can stop himself.

Colin's eyes slowly open again. "What?"

"Maybe I did, um... have a reason." Shitshitshit, why did he say that what on earth made him think that was a good idea shit _shit SHIT_. It's too late to take it back now and he squeezes his eyes shut, bites the bullet he shot into his own mouth. "I wanted..." Fuck, he doesn't even know what he wanted. To spend time with him? To confess his undying devotion on his own home turf? "To tell you something," he finally says. He pauses, waits for some indication that Colin is listening, but he doesn't get any. Maybe he's just faded out of existence. Better for him if he has. "I think I'm in love with you. Well, no, I don't think, I know I am. I thought if I brought you here it might be easier to say it, but it hasn't been." He sucks in a deep breath. "But I'm tired of sitting here and acting like nothing's going on, and I know I'm just some kid with a crush and it doesn't actually matter, but I need to say it. I love you, Colin." He falls silent, cracks open one eye fully prepared to confront the disgust he's sure to see on Colin's face. 

But instead all he finds is an amused smile. "I know."

Taron bolts into a sitting position, mouth hanging slightly open in shock. "You _know_?" he repeats.

Colin levers himself into a sitting position, sheets falling away from him as he slowly shakes his head. "Of course I do. You aren't exactly subtle, Taron," he chuckles, reaching out to cup his cheek with his hand, thumb stroking gently over his bottom lip.

"And you let me sit here all this time with that feeling bad about myself?" Taron huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and absolutely not leaning his head into Colin's touch, absolutely not letting his eyes slide half-closed, absolutely not poking the tip of his tongue out to run it over the pad of Colin's thumb.

Smirking, Colin leans in a couple inches, eyes dancing playfully. "Yes," he says. "I did. I wanted you to tell me on your own and," here he pauses, gaze flicking down briefly to Taron's lips, "you're adorable when you think you're hiding." 

"Oh, shove off," Taron breathes, but it doesn't come out with any sort of power, not with Colin so close, looking at him like that.

One of Colin's eyebrows twitches up and he drops his hand. "If you want me to, I will," he says blithely.

Taron moves without thinking, hand flashing out to curl in the soft, ratty T-shirt he's wearing. "Don't you fucking dare," he growls, not giving himself the chance to back out of this. If he pauses now he's going to talk himself out of it. So he surges forwards, pressing their lips together. He might also unbalance Colin and send them both toppling backwards but, considering he ends up practically straddling him, neither of them are complaining. Taron doesn't pull back until the clamoring of his lungs for air can't be ignored anymore, panting and looking down at the man sprawled out underneath him.

"And just think," Colin teases, trailing his fingers up Taron's bare chest, resting them in the hollow of his throat, "we could have had three whole days of this."

Taron rolls his eyes and leans down to give him another kiss, this one slow, lingering, the type that ignites a small curl of heat low in his abdomen. "Next time," he whispers, his lips brushing against Colin's.

Because now there's definitely going to be a next time.


End file.
